


Leave It Where It Drops

by StarkRogers



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wax, Wax Play, wax kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarkRogers/pseuds/StarkRogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Copyright: This is an original work of fiction. Sherlock Holmes is public domain, making this piece of work legally mine. You may not reproduce or publish this work on any site or in any journal or any other form of media without my permission. I do not lay claim to the character of Constable Clark; he is from the 2009 movie Sherlock Holmes.</p><p> </p><p>Clark stops by Lestrade's office on his way home one cold winter's evening. A candle and a clumsy hand heats things up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave It Where It Drops

The cold night was full upon London, chilling winter air banging at the shutters of the city's residents, begging to be let in. At Scotland Yard, Detective Inspector Lestrade was seated in his office, clinging to the small halo of light being expended valiantly by the oil lamp on the desk. His slouched shoulders were the first thing Constable Clark saw as he peeked in on his way out of the offices. Clark was bundled up against the frigid air outside, gloves on his hands and scarf wrapped high around his neck. He held in one hand a candle to light his way through the halls.

"Lestrade sir! Whatever are you still doing here at this hour?" He stepped into the Detective Inspector's office, shutting the door against the chill of the hallway. Lestrade turned his head slightly with a grunt, obviously stiff from having sat in one position for too long. The Inspector was, as always, dressed to the tee, complete with a heavily starched collar and cravat. 

"Finishing the paperwork to cover for Holmes' latest escapades," Lestrade said gruffly. Clark stepped closer and leaned over to take a look. As he squinted to read the Inspector's scrawling handwriting in the dim light, he forgot about the candle in his hand. It tipped, and hot wax spooled enthusiastically down the candle, several drops landing against the crease of Lestrade's neck, where his tall starched collar met with skin. The Inspector hissed and jumped nearly out of his skin as Clark jumped back, startled as well.

"Sir! Oh I'm so sorry sir! " Clark fumbled uselessly, alternately trying to back away and lean in to help, all while Lestrade fervently pushed him away.

"I'm fine," he said, his voice reedy and strained.

"At least loosen your collar sir. Those things will be the death of you."  

After a moment Lestrade acquiesced, as it seemed his constable was set on seeing proof he was unharmed, and the sooner he could remove the constable from his office, the better. He undid the top button of the starched collar, and removed his cravat. The collar stuck to his skin where the wax had dropped, so he slipped his fingers between the two and broke them apart. He looked up at Clark, who seemed frozen in place, still holding the candle in one gloved hand. Lestrade quirked an eyebrow at the other man.

"Let me take a look, sir," said Clark, his voice soft. Lestrade's eyebrows knotted together now, and he pressed his lips together with annoyance. 

"It's entirely unnecessary. But if it gets you out of my office, then do as you please."

He made no helpful gesture to assist Clark in examining him as the constable stepped over, bringing the candle closer to get a look at the skin, now flushed and pink around the wax puckering the flesh. As if by another slip of clumsy chance, Clark let loose a few more drops of wax that splashed and slid beneath the loosened collar, disappearing from view, going where Clark dared not let his fingers go. The response was immediate: Lestrade's entire body went rigid with trembling, and he sucked in a fierce deep breath. 

"Sir?" Clark breathed, grazing his eyes over the inspector's neck, up to his face which was strained, his strong jaw clenched, eyes pressed shut tightly. Sweat had begun to bead on his forehead, and his hands clutched the arms of the chair so fiercely his knuckles were turning white. Clark let another stream of wax slide down the inspector's neck, this time watching it pool against the fabric where it met Lestrade's skin. It drew a path like a hot finger down Lestrade's neck, tracing a trail Clark would like to follow with his own fingers. The inspector let out his held breath with a shudder, but still, something held his composure together enough that he did not cry out. 

Clark undid the last button on the tall starched collar and it sprang open. Lestrade trembled beneath Clark, his knees shifting ever so slightly, opening nearly imperceptibly as fabric brushed against fabric. Clark found himself focusing on his own breath, holding it barely steady as the inspector slowly leaned his head back carefully against his chair, silently giving Clark permission to… continue. 

He splashed a few drops of wax along milky, barely exposed collarbones, letting the it pool where they met in the middle, watching it cascade down Lestrade's chest, disappearing beneath his shirt. Clark closed his eyes for a moment, imagining what it would feel like to plunge his hands beneath that shirt. The inspector's breath was ragged. Clark realised with a pulsing need that he had yet to actually touch the inspector with his own hands, skin to skin. He lifted a hand to his mouth and bit on the glove, pulling it off with his teeth. He let it drop to the floor and reached down to touch at last, to feel wax and rippled skin and heat beneath his fingers, to undo one more button and see more than just neck. 

A firm hand stopped him, and he looked down to see Lestrade's hand around his wrist. Confusion clouded his face.

"I can't, Clarkie."

"Sir…" Clark entrated, breathless.

"Go home. To your wife, Constable."

Clark watched in confusion as the inspector rose and gathered his things, throwing on his coat without even buttoning up his collar. As Clark knelt to retrieve his glove the inspector swirled out the door. Before Clark reached the front of the offices Lestrade was already gone. Clark set the candle down on the desk beside the front doors, pulling his glove back on.

"Lestrade..."


End file.
